This forum is used to post any stories following members of both the Alliance and the Horde, collaborative or otherwise. For stories taking place in the past, please post to the Backstories forum. For projects that might benefit from one, feel free to start an OOC companion thread in the Roleplaying forum.

Smithe lay aboard his ship as it left Darkmoon Isle. The events leading up to his flight had become hazy as his disease took effect. The highest ranking members of the Order of the Black Dawn sat around his bed. In solemn tones, they discussed the fate of their order. With Smithe in critical condition, they knew it was only a matter of time before a new leader would be elected to run the declining group.

One moment Smithe lay there, listening to their conversation, but all of a sudden, he was someplace new . . .

He wore his priestly attire. The air was crisp. Birdsong filled the air and the sun shown brightly. He sat in the gardens of Quel'thalas with many familiar faces. Declan, the Captain from Stratholme. Kregal, the High Elven Magister. Drilland a Gilnean Noble and Crime Boss. Many others sat among them. Banners bearing the emblem of the Black Dawn hung around this particular place. Smithe was smiling, which was something he had done for many years. He was confounded. This event took place at least 30 years before yet he still saw everyone as if he had seen them the day before.

Smithe stood from his chair and raised a glass. "Brothers. Today we found an order that will rise from every corner of the globe. All will bow before our might. To the Black Dawn!" He raised his glass in unison with the others in the room who chanted the same phrase. "To the Black Dawn!" All was happening as he remembered. Were the past 30 years a sick dream. Had he simply been napping in these sun touched gardens? The name Accalia rung in his ears, yet there was no one by that name at this gathering. He shrugged and continued chatting with the others present.

The day turned to dusk. And the dusk to night. Many of the members had left to return to their own homes and places of origin. Yet, Smithe, Declan, and Kregal remained. They spoke of many things. Some that would be considered treason to their respective kingdoms, and other things that were harmless enough. Something seemed strange though. An eclipse of the moon seemed to appear out of nowhere. Smithe did not remember and eclipse this night.

Wolves howled in the distance, and the howls seemed to move closer with each passing moment. Kregal, called his guard and fled. Declan grabbed his rifle and prepared for a fight. Smithe did nothing. He had lost control of his body, almost as if he were a puppet. Smithe could not speak. He could not act. He was helpless when Declan turned to face Smithe with his rifle aimed towards to Smithe.

"You have betrayed Accalia. The gift of your mark was to its benefit. Not your own. You will pay for your crimes." The voice changed numerous times. Switching between voices that were known to Smithe. The same sentence repeated and repeated. Smithe stood as if a statue. The barrel of Declan's gun pressed against Smithe's head. A bead of sweat dripped down Smithe's cheek and hit the floor.

Declan's voice changed once more, as if someone else had taken control if only for a moment.

"The Order will survive. Its successor has been chosen." All of the old masters of the order called out in unison from the reaches of the twisting nether. "Your task is done Smithe. Join us here."

A tear rolls down Smithe's face. He closes his eyes. "I have been a fool brothers. Accept me home with open arms. THE BLACK SUN WILL RISE AS THE SUN SETS ON THIS WORLD!" Declan nods and pulls the trigger. Smithe hears the gunshot, but only sees nothing.

Back aboard the Reverend's ship.

The Reverend's body spasms heavily for a few minutes as he progresses through the dream. Then, as if finally finding a place to rest, it breathes its last. The men lower their heads and shroud his body with a banner bearing the emblem of their order. They quietly leave the room one by one, until the Reverend's shrouded corpse sits alone in the dark chamber. A faint whisper speaks on the wind.